to take me soon as he can.
Everybody’s on their feet. Saying who they think’s gonna win the fight.
I go to my seat. Let him know I’m ready for him. When everybody’s seated, and Mrs. Seigner’s at the blackboard, Rock tells the boy next to him, “He probably got his own brother shot with that big mouth of his.”
Mrs. Seigner shoulda moved when I asked. That way I wouldn’a had to knock her down. But I wasn’t gonna let him say nothing like that. So I wasn’t sorry when I took my boot and kicked him in the leg till I heard something crack. Wasn’t sorry one little bit for busting his lip, biting his finger till it turned deep purple, and knocking out three of his teeth.
The guards at school tried to catch me. But I am faster than any kid at school, so I can outrun two fat guards with uniforms so tight their pants fit like sausage skins.
My father’s home when I get there. And as soon as he sees me he knows something’s wrong. Not just because of how I look, but because I walk in through the front door.
“They gonna lock me up.” I try to catch my breath. “For killing somebody.”
My mother walks out of the kitchen. “Oh my God!”
My father is heading for his desk drawer. Pulling out his gun. Loading it. “Who’s gonna kill you?” He pulls the string and the blinds shut. He locks the front door and tells me and Momma to get down on the floor.
My mother is screaming, saying she can’t lose another son. I’m trying to tell them what happened. But they ain’t listening. They peeking out the window for somebody who ain’t even coming.
“Listen!” I sit down on the couch. “Listen to me.” I tell them what I did.
My mother’s hand covers her mouth the whole time. My father’s gun lies in his lap. “Let’s go,” he says, standing up.
“Where?”
He goes to his desk. Puts the gun in the drawer. Locks it. And rubs his head and cheeks with his fingertips. “To school. To the police.”
I’m waiting for him to hit me. To yell or maybe take the gun or knife out and use it on me. But he walks into the kitchen, dips a dry towel in the boiling water my mother’s got on for coffee, and washes blood off my fingers, from around my lips and neck. “Get him a new shirt. Some pants, too.”
My mother walks up the steps, shaking her head. My dad pats me on the back. “You got him ’fore he got you, Mann. Good.”
I’m thinking he’s trying to trick me or something. So I apologize for what I did.
“You ain’t in trouble with me,” he says, reaching in his pants pocket and pulling out a twenty. “That’s the kind of boy that’ll shoot you dead if he gets the chance. So you gotta set ’em straight first. Let ’em know you a man, not some boy people can push around.”
My mother hears what he says. Walking back down, she asks if he’s lost his mind. He says he wishes he’d taught Jason to use his fists. “Or a gun even.”
She screams. “Fists don’t stop bullets! And guns don’t stop trouble from landing on your front porch!” She pulls me over to her. Whispers in my ear. “One day we gonna live where people don’t fight and shoot so much.”
My father pulls me over to him. “Boy. I’m gonna teach you some things you gonna need to know to stay safe around here.”
My mother twists my left arm. “You in trouble right now for—”
“You don’t know if he’s gonna be in trouble,” my dad says, “if it’s self-defense.”
“He thinks he bit somebody’s finger off! That’s self-defense?” She gets up in my father’s face. “That’s what a man’s supposed to do? Hurt other men? Other boys?”
My dad tells my mother to keep quiet and let him handle things. Then he puts his arm around my shoulder, and we walk out the front door. Together.
Chapter 17
THEY KICKED ME out of school. Said I can’t ever come to a public school in this city again because I’m too violent. They put me in juvey for four weeks—till my trial came. But the judge let me out on
Everybody’s on their feet. Saying who they think’s gonna win the fight.
I go to my seat. Let him know I’m ready for him. When everybody’s seated, and Mrs. Seigner’s at the blackboard, Rock tells the boy next to him, “He probably got his own brother shot with that big mouth of his.”
Mrs. Seigner shoulda moved when I asked. That way I wouldn’a had to knock her down. But I wasn’t gonna let him say nothing like that. So I wasn’t sorry when I took my boot and kicked him in the leg till I heard something crack. Wasn’t sorry one little bit for busting his lip, biting his finger till it turned deep purple, and knocking out three of his teeth.
The guards at school tried to catch me. But I am faster than any kid at school, so I can outrun two fat guards with uniforms so tight their pants fit like sausage skins.
My father’s home when I get there. And as soon as he sees me he knows something’s wrong. Not just because of how I look, but because I walk in through the front door.
“They gonna lock me up.” I try to catch my breath. “For killing somebody.”
My mother walks out of the kitchen. “Oh my God!”
My father is heading for his desk drawer. Pulling out his gun. Loading it. “Who’s gonna kill you?” He pulls the string and the blinds shut. He locks the front door and tells me and Momma to get down on the floor.
My mother is screaming, saying she can’t lose another son. I’m trying to tell them what happened. But they ain’t listening. They peeking out the window for somebody who ain’t even coming.
“Listen!” I sit down on the couch. “Listen to me.” I tell them what I did.
My mother’s hand covers her mouth the whole time. My father’s gun lies in his lap. “Let’s go,” he says, standing up.
“Where?”
He goes to his desk. Puts the gun in the drawer. Locks it. And rubs his head and cheeks with his fingertips. “To school. To the police.”
I’m waiting for him to hit me. To yell or maybe take the gun or knife out and use it on me. But he walks into the kitchen, dips a dry towel in the boiling water my mother’s got on for coffee, and washes blood off my fingers, from around my lips and neck. “Get him a new shirt. Some pants, too.”
My mother walks up the steps, shaking her head. My dad pats me on the back. “You got him ’fore he got you, Mann. Good.”
I’m thinking he’s trying to trick me or something. So I apologize for what I did.
“You ain’t in trouble with me,” he says, reaching in his pants pocket and pulling out a twenty. “That’s the kind of boy that’ll shoot you dead if he gets the chance. So you gotta set ’em straight first. Let ’em know you a man, not some boy people can push around.”
My mother hears what he says. Walking back down, she asks if he’s lost his mind. He says he wishes he’d taught Jason to use his fists. “Or a gun even.”
She screams. “Fists don’t stop bullets! And guns don’t stop trouble from landing on your front porch!” She pulls me over to her. Whispers in my ear. “One day we gonna live where people don’t fight and shoot so much.”
My father pulls me over to him. “Boy. I’m gonna teach you some things you gonna need to know to stay safe around here.”
My mother twists my left arm. “You in trouble right now for—”
“You don’t know if he’s gonna be in trouble,” my dad says, “if it’s self-defense.”
“He thinks he bit somebody’s finger off! That’s self-defense?” She gets up in my father’s face. “That’s what a man’s supposed to do? Hurt other men? Other boys?”
My dad tells my mother to keep quiet and let him handle things. Then he puts his arm around my shoulder, and we walk out the front door. Together.
Chapter 17
THEY KICKED ME out of school. Said I can’t ever come to a public school in this city again because I’m too violent. They put me in juvey for four weeks—till my trial came. But the judge let me out on
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